


Take My Envelope Shaped Heart

by geritapancake



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Memories, Flashbacks, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), M/M, Mentions of War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geritapancake/pseuds/geritapancake
Summary: Francis goes to help Arthur clean out his attic like they do every other year on New Years, but this year Francis finds a chest filled with envelopes for.... him?!-A fic I wrote for Valentines Day that I forgot to post. Arthur gets a little ooc near the end but oh well.





	Take My Envelope Shaped Heart

Love was a big word and an even bigger emotion. It was strange and chaotic, yet tender and warm. Most practically bathed in it, but Arthur squirmed in its grasp. In all honesty, he never dealt with emotions well, unless said emotions were anger or fear.  _ Hiding _ , he was great at. Putting up masks and walls and facades, because emotions were made for the weak. (And,  _ by god _ , Arthur wasn’t weak. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.)

So the island nation ran away from love when it called forth, cowering under pounds of masks, like a child hiding under the covers. 

     Love always ended painfully anyway, so why just keep letting others hurt him. After all, the only ones he let into his bitter heart left him in the end. Well, except for one, he guessed. (Arthur never understood why the man still stood by his side. They bickered and yelled at each other. But it was all so… cozy and familiar. He guessed it was only natural that he feels that way, he had known the man for most of his life and  _ that _ was a long road to go down.) 

He had fuzzy memories of his first meeting with the silky blond haired boy. They wore different names back in those days. (And, he guessed, that _ that _ , in itself, was a tell-tale sign that they had known each other for so very long.) Still, his eyes were the same ocean blue and his laugh still carried with it a short obnoxious snort. Although Arthur hadn’t changed all too much either, his eyes still a deep forest green and his mind still stuck in so-called “fairytales”. (But he knew that they were no tall tales, and though there were no princesses eating poisoned apples, there  _ were _ small boys with sticks as swords and flighty pinky promises.)

 

_ “I swear, I’ll be the finest knight one day.” Britain grinned, ‘sword’ flying wildly around in the air. France chuckled. It was no secret that France was much better than him with his swordsmanship, but he still let the other boy dream. Well most of the time, anyway. _

_ “Aren’t knights supposed to be brave and handsome and have a beautiful princess to save from danger. You fit neither of those descriptions and I don’t see a flailing princess for miles.” He smirked. _

_ “Shut it you frog!” He meandered over to where France sat and plopped down beside him. “Plus, I’m sure  _ you’ll _ need plenty of saving in the future.” Britain mocked, waving a dismissive hand at him. France leaned in closer to him and batted his eyes.  _

_ “Are you calling me a beautiful princess?” _

_ “No, you twat.” He shoved him away, trying to suppress a small laugh. France let out a soft sigh. _

_ “Princesses must have rows and rows of pretty dresses.” He had a dreamy look in his eyes. “Pure heaven, that’s what that’d be.”  _

_ “I’ll buy you thousands of dresses once we run away.” He paused, his eyes cast towards the sky. “We should run away...” _

_ “Where would we even go?” France asked, to which Britain shrugged. _

_ “We could have a small cottage in the forest, get married.” Britain contemplated something for a moment. “That’s what proper knights do. They save the princess and they marry them. Right?” There was a slight pause. _

_ “Yeah,” France affirmed, to what statement, it was unclear. “Let’s run away. I’m sick of all the wars and all the yelling. So, yeah. Whenever you say the word, I’ll follow you to the edge of the earth.”  _

_ Britain turned slightly to get a better view of the boy beside him. He held out his pinky.  _

_ “You’re annoying and I kind of hate you, but, you know I’d never leave you… and you’d never leave me. So, you mean it? You and me to the end of the map?” France locked pinkies with him. _

_ “Forever, cheri.”  _

 

_ - _

  
  


     “Arthur?” A familiar, thick French accent called out to him. A hand waving in front of his face. Arthur jumped slightly.

    “For fuck’s sake! What did I tell you about bloody sneaking up on me like that!?” He paused. “Wait, how did you even get in?” 

    “Are you stupid?” His accent not doing the words any justice. “You gave me a key, idiot.” He said as he dangled a key in front of Arthur’s face. The Brit slapped the hand out from in front of his face.

    “Oh, whatever. Just-” He sighed. “What are you doing here?” He said, rubbing his temple.

    “I came to help you clean out your attic.” He said like Arthur was dumb for not remembering. “Remember, _mon_ _lapin_? I come over every other year on New Year's Eve to help you organize.” He said softly. 

    “It’s New Year’s Eve already?” He whispered, it more to himself than Francis but the other man caught it anyway.

    “Yeah. Are you alright, Arthur?” Francis all but cooed, any bite in his voice previously was gone now. “You’re usually already in your attic by the time I get here.” 

     “I’m fine-“ He paused. “Tomorrow the year will be 2000? Already?” There was something in his voice that Francis couldn’t quite pinpoint. Sadness? Anger? Fear?

    “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird. Well weirder than you usually act, that is.” He moved to feel Arthur’s head for his temperature, but his hand was swatted away. 

   “I said I’m fine. Now let’s get this attic business over with.” He pushed himself out of his chair and over to the ladder to his attic, his award-winning grimace back in its rightful place. Whatever emotion he had almost shown back there was quickly concealed, buried six feet under. 

   Francis scurried behind. For a while they just shuffled through boxes and pictures and memories. Stuff that they had seen many times before. Nothing really ‘new’. That was until Francis came across an old chest he hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t labeled, which was odd for Arthur’s attic to begin with, but the fact that Francis hadn’t seen it  _ at all  _ was just  _ weird.  _ Out of curiosity, he waltzed towards it. 

   “Hey, Arthur?” He called. The other man not even turning his head to face him.

   “Yeah?” 

   “What’s in this chest? I’ve not seen it before.” He asked, lifting the top slightly.

   “Probably just dust like all the rest.” He replied. A second went by before his eyes widened. “Wait!” He turned around rapidly, but it was too late. Francis was already staring down at piles of envelopes. 

    He picked one up, a heart sticker sealing it shut.  _ Love letters?  _ But to who? A wave of sadness rushed over him. They weren’t to him, that he was sure. But if it wasn’t him, then  _ who _ ? He wasted no time in flipping it over, seeing as Arthur was barreling towards him.

   ‘ _ Francis’  _ was written on the other side in Arthur’s loopy cursive. Arthur’s Hand stopped short of the envelope. The two seemingly frozen. 

   Francis looked up at the blonde. “You-“ He was stopped short by Arthur snatching the envelope from his hand.

    “Oh who cares, it’s none of your bloody business anyway!” He yelled, turning away from the other man to hide his blushing face. 

   “I haven’t even say anything yet.” He replied, leaning over to pick up yet another envelope. It, too, had his name scrawled on it. He tore it open. 

  “Damnit, frog! Leave my bloody stuff alone.” 

  “Oh, shut it.” He raised up a finger as he read through the sickeningly sweet letter. He was torn between grinning and whooping in victory or standing absolutely shell shocked. There were so many envelopes, were they all for him? And how far did they go back? In one slight moment he decided how he would react. He dropped the letter back into the chest and wrapped his arms around Arthur, leaning in. His lips hovering just over Arthur’s. A second passed by but Francis didn’t lean in any further, instead he leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

   Arthur leaned his head onto Francis’ shoulder, and they both just stood there for a few minutes. Their minds racing. 

  It wasn’t as if Arthur had never written Francis letters before. No, quite on the contrary, what feels like a million years ago letters were there main way of contacting each other. Bickering back and forth in muddied up envelopes when the wars would get too harsh to bare. Francis swore that was the only thing keeping him sane, the only thing keeping things somewhat normal. How he adored receiving another letter, jibes, and low-blows thrown at each other in smudged ink.  And even farther back, when they were only teens, Francis would send Pierre to fly messages back and forth between the two. 

But this letter he had just read was so sweet and loving. And this one was typed, which means it was newer. Was Arthur some kind of hopeless romantic he just decided to bury all of those kind of feelings in envelopes in an old, dusty chest. 

“I never meant for you to see those..” Arthur whispered.

“Why?” Francis asked, removing his head from Arthur’s shoulder to look the other man in his eyes.

“I don’t know, I-” He stopped himself short, he wasn’t even sure what to say. “I guess I was just scared.” He whispered.

“Why, what is there to be scared of?” Francis asked.

“I guess I’m just scared of change…” Arthur murmured. “What if we mess it all up? I know that there is this unspoken thing that we have, but what if we screw it up? What then? What if I say the words I’ve been wanting to say for so long, but you realize you don’t like the way I say them?” Arthur paused abruptly,  _ God,  _ what was he thinking?! What was he saying?! What was he doing admitting things that he had been trying to keep unspoken. Francis was staring at him and he was just standing there trying to think of a way to fix what he had probably just broken. For the first time in a _ long  _ time, he felt himself starting to cry in front of Francis. Because, what was he going to do if he fucked up what he had with the man that had been with him for arguably all of his life, his best friend, the  _ only _ person that didn’t despise him yet. Somehow, someway, Francis had stuck by Arthur’s side for as long as they could both remember, and he didn’t understand why. No one else had, so why should Francis, out of all people, even bear to look at Arthur anymore. 

Francis watched Arthur’s eyes as they sat there for a few moments, he watched as he went to war with himself. Francis abruptly pressed his lips onto Arthur’s. Arthur jolted out of whatever thought he was thinking and he ran his fingers through Francis’s hair. They broke away. 

“Arthur, if I’ve stayed with you for this long, what makes you think I’m leaving after all we’ve been through. I promised you, even if it was seemingly a million years ago, that I’d follow you to the edge of the world, to the end of the map.” He stuck his pinkie out. “Just like old times?”

“Just like old times.” Arthur repeated, and they locked pinkies. 


End file.
